


An Odyssey for Two

by MaverickWerewolf, Tafferling



Category: A Shielding Thing, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, Wulfgard
Genre: Ancient Greece, Dimension Travel, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Rough Sex, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-28
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-08 23:39:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaverickWerewolf/pseuds/MaverickWerewolf, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tafferling/pseuds/Tafferling
Summary: Rule numberfucked-if-I-knewof the Keeper handbook:  "You work alone."Rule number one in the Shielding's abridged version of the same: "I do what I want."Welcome to a lose connection of ficlets taking place in an Assassin's Creed Odyssey AU, in which Sinvik Shielding doesn't speak a word of Ancient Greek and needs Tom Drake to help her get her job done. Or make it more difficult. Not like she minds.Expect mostly smut and fluff. Those two are incredibly needy.





	1. Boat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom arrives back at the ship after a day spent fighting under a sun that isn't his. And he's got a lot of tension to work through-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Starting with a smutty chapter. Present tense, because I can only write smut in present tense right now.

**Boat**

* * *

 

 **S** invik doesn’t think she’ll get tired of the ocean. Ever. Of the roll of the waves. The creak of the ship around her. Of how above the sky hangs dark, richly dotted by the glint of stars, and how the light of a the dull sickle moon bounces off the rolling water, silver and pretty.

Her skin itches a little from the salt. But even that she doesn’t mind.

Neither does Tom, apparently.

The first thing he does when he finds her looking out across the vast waters, away from the warm glow of the city behind them, is have a taste. His lips feel soft and warm against the side of her neck, and the tip of his tongue wets her skin. But then there's the scruff of his evening stubble, and that just scratches and tickles, makes her squirm. Huffing, she pushes her hand against his forehead, getting an annoyed grunt out of him, and then she turns around to face him.

Her eyes flick up and down and down and up, and when he steps closer still, his fingers tickling gently down her side, she tilts her head up and quirks a brow.

“You look a real mess, Tom.”

Which he does. Inside and out. There’s a discord hanging around him, tense and confusing— the aftermath of a day he’s spent out there, fighting under a hard sun that isn’t his. Now it’s all ready to come apart, but it’s aimless. Directionless. Least until now. Now it’s eagerly knocking at her gates, ragged and needy.

He’s not looking much better on the outside, carries the entire day on him, still. His hair has dust and sand in it. Is tangled and matted, and the sorry excuse for armour made of leather straps, cloth, and a bunch of tarnished metal buckles, sits on a little askew. There’s dirt on his left shoulder. Dried blood down the other, and more of that still all over him. It dapples his chest, all mixed into the coarse dusting of dark hair, and leaves dots on his stomach and along his arms.

“You should see the other guy,” he says. “No. Guys. Plural. Lots of them. A whole _army._ ”

There’s even some blood still on his chin, and Sinvik reaches up, rubs that away at least, and earns herself a lopsided smirk. A smirk that breaks into a grin when she finds more right to the left of a bared nipple, and she decides that needs to be cleaned off, too.

Though then he nudges her chin up, stops her admiring him in the scant light of the stars and moon and some wayward torches, and kisses her.

It’s a straight forward sort of kiss. The sort that comes with his hand sliding down the small of her back to squeeze her rump. Squeeze it softy at first, before grabbing on tight and with a certain undertone of _mine._ She _Mh’s_ , and parts her mouth just enough to run the tip of her tongue over his upper lip.

Which is enough to properly ignite whatever’d been smouldering in him, and almost gets her squashed against the ship’s railing in return. His armour pokes her through her simple robe, almost painfully where his belt buckle digs into her hip.

By now, Sinvik can’t really smell the salt anymore. There’s some on him, too, but mostly he’s peat and ash and leather. And sweat and blood, not to forget, both of which’d wash off if he was so inclined. Which he really isn’t. Not right now.

“Long day?” she asks when his kiss wanders greedily along the side of her mouth, her chin, and into the hollow of her throat, sharp teeth gracing her skin. He likes doing that. Maybe since he can tell how much _she_ does. How the thought alone of how he could easily tear her throat out if he felt like it, makes heat flare in her core.

“Very,” he mumbles and inhales. And that turmoil and tension and want from before knocks over her gates like they’re made of twigs. Almost like he’s got a key— which is cheating, really.

Sinvik tilts her head to the side. Peers around him, back across the deck of the boat. Ship. _Ship._ She almost snickers then, because she likes calling it a boat so he gets all worked up over it. The _boat_ is empty right now. Most the crew are either on the shore, with just a few below. All except a single hunched over figure leaning on a spear while lazily watching the dock.

Not that Tom cares there’s anyone near. Not right now he doesn’t, anyway. His breathing is ragged. Slow. And his fingers dig into the fabric of the cloth wrapped around her, inching lower and lower until they start bunching it all up over her hip.

“You know,” he says, his voice scratching up his throat. “I can really get behind how pants aren’t a thing here.”

“Mhmmm...“

He twists her around. Bruises her shoulder with a hard kiss and a hard bite, and practically claws at her robe as his hand hungrily finds one of her breasts to roll his palm over it.

His other hand is busy with the mess of what passes for more armour hanging from his belt. Busy getting it out of the way just enough, because just enough is really all he has the patience for right now.

His foot gets between hers. Kicks once gently left, then right, getting her legs apart. She arches back, until his hand finds her throat and settles around it, his thumb pushing against her chin to tilt her head enough to trap her lips in another kiss. A lopsided, sloppy mess of a kiss.

She steadies herself with one hand gripping the railing tight. Has to, ‘cause he’s a little blind to how she’s just a knock away from tumbling over it, what with how he’s too busy being frustrated with finding a way through all the armour and cloth between them.

He manages though, and the kiss is thrown entirely off target, interrupted by a low rumble for a hum that makes it up his chest when he finds her warm and wet and all manners of welcoming.

Sinvik tracks a hand up his arm that grips at her side as he rolls his hips in a slow rhythm that probably takes a lot more self control than she’d thought he’d found her with. Her fingers glance over the rough, chipped metal bracers, swipe across his impossibly hot skin, taut over how his muscle strain with the hard grip, and eventually make it all the way up to slide into his hair.

“And I,” she says, only for a whimper to get in the way, since because he’s got a way with that hip of his that always manages to work unbidden noises out of her. “I—“, she tries again, “I can get behind what you’re doing with your hair.”

His fingers twitch against her throat.

“It looks good on you.” She gives said hair a challenging tug. A careful one at first, testing. Enough to note how his fingers curl a little tighter. So she pulls a bit harder.

At first, she gets a growl against her ear. Then a nip at her earlobe, and a rough and thoroughly distracted, “ _You_ look good on _me_.”

But when she pulls again, his hand clamps down hard, fingers digging in. He relinquishes as much of the self control he’s clung on to as he can possibly afford. Turns the world for them to a narrow, rushed thing. Lets her forget the ocean— the gentle bite of cool night air— everything but the churning, twisting heat between them. It builds quickly. Ferociously. Until it snaps the whole world in half for them— and leaves him drawing in air exhausted pulls, his forehead resting on her shoulder. Leaves him bleeding from a scratch on his neck, too, and her smarting from a bit of a bruise on her throat. But, mostly, it leaves them tangled up in each other so tight, she’s always amazed she can still tell where he ends and she begins.


	2. On soft paws

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sinvik has a liking for things with big teeth.
> 
> Tom thinks the only thing she ought to like that's got big teeth, is him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's just fluff. Literally.

****

**On soft paws**

* * *

 

 **T** his ancient Greece thing was real pretty. Didn’t matter what island they cozied up with, she’d always find it striking. For one, there was always that brilliant, blue water, so clear she itched real bad to go for a swim, even if she wasn’t awfully good at it. Plus, there were _sharks._

Sharks, Tom’d told her (shown her, really), were very big fish.

Fish with big teeth.

So no swimming (for now), just a lot of gawking, because this island in particular was an exceptional sort of pretty. It’s beach was white and soft— like most others were, to be fair —lined with the ocean curling up to it in bright turquoise. And on land, everything smelled real good. Fresh and clean, for the most part. Salt, sunkissed air, and spice and flowers— so. many. flowers. Blue, red, yellow, purple, all popping from the verdant green clinging to craggy hills.

Mh. It was all real gorgeous.

Distracting, too, and it preoccupied her while she followed Tom along the crest of a stoney hill. The ridge was lined with trees laden heavily with red fruit, one of which she juggled idly between her hands. She didn’t know what it was called. Just knew that on the inside it had lots of tiny beads that tasted a little sour and a little sweet, and that were fun to throw into Tom’s open mouth. Or on his nose. Or into his eyes. Probably the eyes most of all.

She smirked, tossed the fruit from one hand to the other again, and when it landed in her palm, Tom got attacked.

It came out of a tree.

And it was rather large. A large, puffy scruff of sand coloured fur that hissed and spat and clung to Tom’s back with wicked claws sinking into his shoulders and tearing bloody ruts down his lower back. Tom, ever so eloquently, screamed and cursed up a storm so colourful it rivalled the variety of flowers all around. He also staggered and thrashed around, frantically trying to throw it off. Whatever _it_ was. Though since the thing was on his back, he couldn’t get his swords— and when he tried to reach back, grab it by the neck to maybe tear it off, it bit his hand.

“Fucking _shit fuck shit— get it— get it off— what the_ **_fuck._ ** ”

Sinvik leaned her head to the side.

It looked like a cat. The thing.

A big, fluffy cat.

With big teeth.

Teeth that suddenly glinted— red on white, because there was blood on them —as they headed straight at her. Seemed like the _cat_ had grown tired of riding on Tom’s back, and decided to leap right over his head and at her.

Which was really unfortunate, because she’d stepped out of Tom’s way just a moment ago (what with how he’d been flailing about like a drunk), which’d put her right at the edge of the crest. And the hill was _real_ steep.

It took Tom a while to find her after that. Mostly because her and the large, angry, fluffy cat had found a narrow crack in the hillside and had gone tumbling ass over paw into a damp, cool cave.

“Vik!” she heard him go. Up there, somewhere. Stomping around. “Viiik?! Where the fuck are you?”

_Purrr._

Sinvik sighed and folded forward, sticking her nose and cheeks down, right into the soft fluff sprawled out on her lap. Her hands were busy around its ears and neck, scratching and scratching and scratching. Oh yeah, the fluff was _heavy_ on her lap. Had to admit that. The thing had a lot more muscle and bone and meat under all that fur than she’d originally anticipated. And by Elaya’s ample titties, was it _loud._ She was surprised Tom hadn’t found her by just following the constant purring that’d started when it’d stopped trying to eat her because Cad’his scratches were a lot better than having said Cad’his stab it with her itsy bitsy sword.

Or maybe Tom _did_ end up trailing the constant _Rrrr-rrrr-rrrrr-_ **_rrrrr_ ** **,** which led him to the hole above her, his silhouette blotting out the sun spilling in around him.

Said hole was up real high. So high, she’d not even _tried_ climbing it, and picking her way through the dark cave had sounded like a whole lot of effort. Especially since she’d banged up her leg on the way down, and unlike other present company, she didn’t heal in a snap. Three snaps, maybe.

“Vik…” he said up there, voice edged with relief. Same relief that seemed to exhale soundly from his soul, right before it was replaced by a jitter of confusion.

And a stab of jealousy.

Almost like he had a bit of an issue with how she was scratching a purr out of that cat-thing. Maybe even being horribly offended by how she’d taken a liking to yet another thing with big teeth. One that wasn’t him.

* * *

 **Y** eah, Tom didn’t like that one little bit.

He sneered at it and sized up the stupid pincushion of claws and tiny sharp teeth and hated it in about two seconds.

“That little shit was trying to tear my back off,” Tom said pointedly, folding his arms. “Y’know, in case you missed that…” and he turned around some to show off a very bloody back that – ow – okay, it hurt.

“ _I_ did something like that to you once,” Vik replied sweetly, scratching the lynx behind an ear.

Tom scoffed. “Pff, no, give me a break – you were obviously aiming for my throat, not my back—and besides, that’s really beside the point right now.”

“Don’t have any forgiveness in your heart?” she teased softly.

 _Oh come_ on _._ “ _You’re_ here, aren’t you?” he said just as sweetly, offering a little smile.

She hummed and shrugged and that stupid ugly cat purred even louder like she’d found some favorite spot to scratch.

Tom sputtered as he started climbing his way down into that tiny fucking crevice they’d managed to find their way into, which was definitely tight on his shoulders on the way in. And he threw another look over one of those (very broad, thanks for noticing) shoulders, saw her petting the cat (no, lynx), and snapped, “Will you stop that?”

“Somebody’s jealous,” she whispered in one of the lynx’s tufted ears.

“I’m _so_ much bigger. My everything is bigger. Incomparable, really,” Tom practically blurted, very pointedly landing in front of her to stand over the two of them and put his hands on his hips.

“Mh.”

“Claws are way bigger…”

“Mh…”

“And don’t get me started on the muscles – or the teeth.”

She sighed.

“See, you’re swooning just _thinking_ about them, babe.”

That got a snort out of her, anyway.

So he quickly added, “And my fur – hair – fur, all of it, it’s a _lot_ softer than that wiry old thing.”

“You haven’t even touched her fur.”

“Yeah, because prissy little pussy bit the hell out of my hand when I tried. But hey, I still felt it when it was trying to get a look at my fucking spine—wait, _her?_ ”

“Her.”

“It’s a her.”

“Tom, jealousy doesn’t make you deaf.”

“Of _course_ it’s a her…” he muttered as he abruptly scooped the both of them up in his arms, halfway to make a point that he could. The lynx started, its purring stuttering for a second and pausing in alarm. “Fine, I’ll bring it with us so I can eat it.”

“You’re not eating the fucking cat.”

“Why not? _It_ wanted to eat _me_.”

“She only didn’t know you’re a werewolf and those aren’t for eating. Isn’t that right?” she asked the cat, very pointedly, giving it a scratch along the back of its head.

Tom actually growled then, deep and loud and ripping up his throat, and the lynx recoiled in terror in Vik’s arms, ears all flat, and looked ready to take a wild swipe at his face. At least until Vik swiped for it and flicked him right on the bridge of his nose.

Which got him to flinch back with an, “Ow!”

“Rude. Don’t be a brute.”

“I swear to Athena I’ll just eat both of you right now, you like that better? That way you’ll still have your cat.” He pointedly opened his mouth to make a show that he’d gladly shove the both of them down his throat—

He stubbed his toe, _hard_ , on a big old rock because he was paying fuck-all attention to where he was going, and his sandals didn’t really do much for shielding his toes.

Then that set him cursing and sputtering and growling and having to actually look where he walked instead of staring at Vik the whole freaking time.

Which wasn’t nearly as fun. Even if she was just relentlessly teasing him with that purring ball of wiry, staticky (it was so not nearly as pretty as his) fur… And, you know, now also giggling because he’d nearly planted himself face-first in the dirt.

That made him almost wish he had’ve, since he would’ve landed right on top of her and her newfound precious bundle of needles and maybe given them both a good flattening they kinda deserved.

 


	3. The Hart of the Matter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom and Vik go hunting for a particularly large and magical deer. But no werewolves in this world, so Tom shouldn't cheat. As if he ever follows the rules...

**The Hart of the Matter**

* * *

 

 **S** o this world was mostly normal. Emphasis on the _mostly._ Things seemed to be pretty much like… like… where he was from, whatever that’d be called. Usually he just called it _my place_ or _back home_ or something.

The environment was similar, too, and just as pretty. Tom led the way as they went walking through a forest of tall trees the color of fire, continually shooting looks back at Vik as she turned this way and that admiring the oranges, reds, and yellows they were lost in. Sunlight filtering through those leaves cast the entire world in their glow, almost like an early sunset – until a spot of clear blue sky peeked through the leaves as they gently rustled in the wind.

Everything smelled so clear, so crisp. Tom _loved_ it. The air was full of scents: the smell of the salty sea, brought on the wind; Vik's wild scent, almost like spices and metal; all the tangy falling leaves and detritus of the forest around them; and of course the trail of their quarry, all deer fur, deer blood – and, ew, deer musk.

He was supposed to hunt some big beautiful – you guessed it – deer for a bunch of ladies who followed Artemis. Who was a lot like the Artemis _he_ knew about, because she liked to hunt things and had a whole bunch of lovely women followers, too.

And holy shit were they ever pretty. Had he mentioned that?

Turned out the deer _was_ big and it _was_ beautiful, almost a shame to kill it honestly, but then again… gods, this thing probably tasted delicious.

He’d wanted to cheat, when they first started tracking it. Not that he  _had_ to to track it, since he'd learned to use his nose just as well no matter what form he was in, for the record.

Still, he'd thought about it, because it'd just be so much more fun. But Vik had given him one of those looks (because of course she _knew_ ) and booped him on the nose with a chiding, “Bad Tom. No werewolfing, remember?”

“Just _five_ minutes, I promise. Nobody’ll notice.”

But that was still a no. Apparently really bad shit could happen if you screwed around in these other worlds, bringing things there that weren’t supposed to be there. He’d taken her word for it. Transforming had been kind of a bitch so far, they had to be really careful about it. And it involved keeping him all cooped up and feeding him copious quantities of raw meat and a few small, or relatively small, live animals.

It also involved lots of petting so he didn’t get too restless, which Tom didn’t mind at all. Because he could remember _all_ of it now, thank you very much. And _he_ was the one licking Vik’s face. All that not remembering, not knowing, not being in control? Totally in the past.

Okay, _mostly_. But hey, he’d had temper problems his whole life, alright?

So, the deer. He should’ve brought an actual spear, but he didn’t really have the foresight for that (when was the last time he thought ahead? He really couldn’t remember), but he only just had that thought when he and Vik and Vik’s slinky lynx, still purring up a storm, all settled down in the underbrush at the edge of the woods, watching the giant hart.

Tom whimpered, because he had this horrible, horrible _stupid_ compulsion to turn and just go chase it down and eat its heart (ahah, heart, hart, get it?) out and honestly it was really fucking gross but he couldn’t help it – he wanted it _so badly._

“Aww, poor thing,” Vik cooed, reaching up and giving him a scratch behind his ear.

Which actually felt _amazing_ and made him lean into it, wagging his theoretical tail before he sputtered and pulled away and blurted, “Oh please—”

“Sorry, making it worse?”

Tom stuck his tongue out at her, because they both knew perfectly well that yes, she was, thanks, and he wished she’d do that more often. A _lot_ more often. Actually when this was over he was going to see about getting—

Deer. Job. Followers of Artemis. Focus.

Okay, so, that giant deer? It had antlers that would’ve taken up an entire small room. And they were _gold_ , just like its hooves.

Yeah, this world wasn’t _entirely_ normal. Not that _he_ was entirely normal, either.

Because nobody in his right mind would charge a golden-antlered deer the size of a fucking bear (a large bear, too, not a little one) when he was just carrying a measly pair of swords. But Tom did.

The hind didn’t much like it, either. It reared up, letting out a… whatever-you-call-that-weird-noise-deer-made, and it slammed its hooves back into the ground to prance off a few feet away. Tom only just nicked its flanks with one blade before he snarled and chased off after it.

If he could just sink his teeth into it, this’d all be over a lot faster—

It turned around, before he even knew it had. It turned around and it slammed its antlers into the ground – right on top of him.

All those heavy prongs came down with enough force to knock him hard on his ass, and then flat on his back as they kept pressing harder, until the points dug into the earth around him and stayed there. And he struggled and tried to squirm free, but it was like being stuck in a cage and he _hated_ cages. Especially ones as stupid as this.

“ _Fuck—!_ ”

Okay, his left leg was twisted up stupid and _OW_ , and his nearest arm to the thing’s head couldn’t _quite_ reach, and holy shit he was lucky he hadn’t gotten impaled right in the chest or stomach or his—

Oh, shit, that one had almost hit his junk.

“Fucking – stupid – fucking _DEER!_ ” Tom started kicking at its head with the one leg that wasn’t tangled up in the antlers. The deer didn’t much seem to care.

Vik cared, though, because you know what she was doing?

Yeah. She was. She was laughing. Laughing her ass off, actually, and Tom could hear her plain as day. He frowned and felt his face turn solid _bright_ friggen red.

Fine, though. This was fine. It was fine because he hadn’t gotten stabbed anywhere (especially not you-know-where) and because it made Vik laugh. Right now, that was worth it.

Even if he knew he’d hate it with all his soul later, no way she wasn’t feeling that, when she had to remind him of this moment about fifteen thousand times.

So, to make it less embarrassing, he did exactly what he told Vik he wasn’t going to do – what she told him _not_ to do. He gave in to that primal instinct, that never-abated bloodlust that always gnawed at the base of his heart.

And in a few moments of cartilage popping like weathering wood, of muscle and sinew creaking and straining like leather, Tom changed completely – the fur grew, the claws appeared, his teeth extended…

He screamed. A lot. He always did – there was just no escaping that part, apparently.

But that deer backed off in a frantic, crying hurry and tried to run. By the time Tom was done shedding what little clothes he wore in the first place, the deer didn’t stand a chance.

Even as far off as it’d gotten, Tom sprang after it and cleared the distance in one long lope of his wolfish legs, arms extended, clawed hands tackling the animal – that now felt _small –_ straight to the ground in a heap of blood, pierced flesh, and crunched bone as he bit down on its neck and killed it in an instant.

He was right, it was _delicious._

Growling and bristling, Tom stood tall over the corpse of his kill and did his damnest to swallow the howl that desperately wanted out of his chest. No, he had to keep himself shut up. Remember what Vik said – no werewolves in this world.

The last thing he wanted was to run and to hunt and be completely free, with no one having a single clue how to stop him or even slow him down, and… Son of a bitch, that sounded like a _dream_ , he had to stop thinking about it.

He probably ought not to stand up so straight, either, given he was taller than some of the young trees around here… But who cared, he looked _great_ when he did this.

Vik came padding over, quiet as the wildcat that trailed along after her, and frowned all the way up at his black-furred wolf head and burning yellow eyes. She glanced him up and down – the broad chest, the claws dripping blood… the long wolf tail that, yes, was wagging behind him now as her eyes landed on his kill.

“You cheated,” she said, as flat and chiding as she could manage through the apparent amusement she tried to hide. But even Tom had learned to see that light in her eyes. Oh yeah, she liked this. She’d always liked him when he… Well, she liked _every_ side of him, put it that way.

But Tom was very mature. Always.

So in answer to that, he stuck his tongue out at her.

Again.


	4. Fishies

**Fishies**

* * *

 

**T** he water stung her eyes, but Sinvik wouldn’t close them for how beautiful it was down here. For how the light lanced down from the shifting waves, bubbles dancing wildly just below the surface. Even if it reminded her of the Cataract, that roiling mirror shedding motes made of light. That stupid thing lodged between worlds which liked so much to boss her around. Not now though. Not today, and not tomorrow—

_Now,_ all she got and all she wanted was down here in the water. The brilliant, bright rays connecting the skies to the spotless, white sands below. And the fish. All the fish. So many of them, traveling in schools made of countless winking and flashing shapes darting this way and that—

Sinvik loved it down here.

Though she needed air, too.

Lungs burning, she pushed up, feet kicking up some of the sand below her, leaving a cloud roiling through the waves. She gasped for air coming up, and with the sea pushing at her and then pulling, began swimming to the shore. 

The beach sitting in the hollow lagoon of the island was empty, save for two horses tied to a tree leaning down low from the belt of green. Oh, and the _lynx._ The tuft-eared girl lazed about on the same tree, paws hanging off of it. Right below her lay a pile of gear. Armor and weapons, mostly. Couldn’t go for a dive with all of that on.

Sinvik trudged towards them a few steps, before a splash of water behind her drew her attention. Tom. Tom the _fish._ Because that man could stay under water good as forever. Though even he needed to come up eventually, and now he was working his way up through the waves, water dripping from his shoulders— and they were real nice shoulders. Naturally. Sinvik stared at them. _Naturally._ Them and everything else on him. The dark, sun kissed skin down the curve of his neck, thick muscle bunching up as he shook his arms lazily, sending water flicking off. The arms themselves, light scar lines under the dusting of darker hair, because she really liked those arms. Much like she liked the rest of him, too. Now in particular, since all he had on was some crude linen on his hip. Which’d got all soggy. So soggy and heavy, it’d slipped down low, clinging to the far end of the well defined V framing the thick shadow of dark hair diving down his abdomen. _All_ of that, Sinvik admired. She even counted the shapes of his ribs and the hard edges of muscle down his stomach, and did all that with her arms crossed and bare feet cover by warm sand. Sand that sucked down Tom’s own feet as he walked. Made him stumble. Which was droll.

Setting himself right again, he flashed her a smile. A sort of sideways hanging one that told her he knew she was staring and could she please stare some more— at least until he suddenly stopped. Entirely. The smile froze, then his brows furrowed, and then his eyes went a little wide. Sinvik cocked her head to the side. Blinked.

“What,” he blurted, “Gods— why—”

“Tom?”

Face twisting into a grimace and body going rigid, Tom’s hands came up by his sides and hovered by his hip. His fingers twitched.

He whined. Properly _whined,_ voice cracking a little, and then came up the sandbank stomping wildly, dragging confusion on behind him that made her think of the tickle of fish from way before as she’d been diving, when she’d kicked through a thick school of them.

Tom had done that, too.

Though unlike her, Tom had apparently caught some of the little buggers.

“ _How,_ ” he lamented, “Ohgodshow—getthemout—”

* * *

**T** his was not okay.

This wasn’t even _approaching_ okay. Holy shit they were wiggling and it kind of tickled but was tickling the right word because _fish were not allowed in there **ever**._

Ever.

Oh gods. They just kept _squirming_.

Vik came to meet him halfway, looking like she was trying her best not to laugh, which was pretty considerate, really. Then again, he probably looked fucking pitiful.

“What’s wrong, Tom?” she asked innocently. Definitely trying to get some kind of a fun rise out of him (ha ha, not that kind), but he really wasn’t paying her much attention right now.

Because he was a little busy stuffing one hand down the front of his – linen – cloth – underwear – whatever the fuck—

“Tom. Tom,” Vik said, grabbing his wrist and pushing his hand aside. “As tragically hilarious as that’d be to watch…”

He knew she’d been pulling his chain, she knew perfectly well the whole time—

She slid her hand down the front of his pants instead.

_Ohokay._

Vik had nice fingers – and, you know, nimble. Yeah, this wasn’t really the first time he’d thought that. But she clearly wasn’t very good at catching tiny fish with them.

Or, she probably _would_ have been if she actually fucking tried.

“Vik,” he said, mostly grunted, when her slender touch glided right past something squirming and eased a little farther, well. Down. Lightly rubbing against him the whole time and not seeming to care what she was…

Nevermind. Curious— alright— _fingers_ —

“ _Vik.”_

She just smiled up at him coyly. “Tom.”

Her hand got around – oh boy.

“That’s – _nnnot_ a fish, Vik – Vik…” She tightened her hold enough for his breath to lodge somewhere in his throat, and she was definitely too aware that it had.

After a second he managed to exhale a rasp anyway before he sucked some air back in again. “Yeah okay you already know it’s not… notafish—”

There _were_ still fish in there, though. _Wiggling._

He wanted to whimper, so, whoops, he had before he really gave himself permission. “Vik… the fish, baby, please, can we have _just_ your _hand_ in my pants right now?”

She hummed thoughtfully (but about a whole lot of evil shit, not what he was actually saying) and felt around some more, fingers all but ignoring him now, just nudging and brushing around. All warm skin and potential and no attention at all, even after she’d gone and started letting the linen get tight.

All that, and Vik wasn’t actually getting rid of any of the stupid fucking fish, either.

“You’re cruel,” he pouted, still trying to get his voice out of his chest, where it mostly wanted to knock around uselessly in an almost continuous growl.

“You sure they’re still in here? Maybe they fit themselves in a nice cozy hiding spo—”

His hands found her shoulders, because where else were they supposed to go right now, and he blurted, “Holy fucking shit, Vik, don’t _say_ that!”

Not that he wouldn’t know, but gods, why would she even…

What was she doing, chasing it? Snatching for one, she just managed to get the awful slick little thing to tickle its way somewhere _else_ on him. He whined out a swear that got her cocking an eyebrow up at him.

Finally. She _finally_ fished – no, not _fished_ , ah hell – one of the little squirmy assholes out, holding up the stupid little minnow (it probably wasn’t technically a minnow, he had no idea what it was and didn’t give a single shit) and giving it a look before flicking it away toward the water.

“How many did you catch?” she asked, right before she slipped her hand back in there.

“Dunno,” he huffed. Thank the gods she was finally getting rid of them.

Then he paused while a handful of fish kept getting really personal and Vik kept pulling them out painstakingly, one at a time.

“Why am I still wearing pants?” he suddenly asked.

“You said ‘get them out,’ I’m getting them out.”

“Get the pants _off_ instead.”

She snorted.

“And then get _me_ off.”

“Such wit.”

He smirked and lifted one of those hands off her shoulders to squeeze the nape of her neck. Slid a thumb under her jaw, trying to get her to angle her face toward him. She just tilted her head askew instead, cheeky little cat.

Still, he leaned down to breathe in her scent, nose bumping her cheek before almost growled, too rough and too deep, “That’s why you love me. That and… the fact that I’m so handsome. And charming. And I because I kick _so_ much ass.”

“Nothing gets by you, does it?” she murmured, finally looking up at him.

Not wasting a chance like that. Tom went after that kiss he’d wanted before. One hand still on her neck, his other abandoned her shoulder and went for his hip instead, all but tearing the fabric of that soaked linen.

 


End file.
